Little Lamb, Who Made Thee
by Ikonopeiston
Summary: This is the final chapter of this story. Please remember it is AU. There will be no future updates
1. Chapter 1

The characters and settings in this story are the property of Square/Enix. Only the way in which they are portrayed and understood is mine.

**Little Lamb, Who Made Thee?**

She was her own creation. Once long ago, she had been someone else, a dry little girl with dark hair, scrawny and as agile as a lizard. Her name had been Talya then and she had lived in the island village of Kalika. Sometimes when she looked into one of the numerous mirrors which reflected light in every corner of her house, she saw that skinny dark child peeking at her from around the edge of the glass, making rude faces and laughing. Well that had been than and this was now. She gave herself a critical examination, tucking in a flaxen curl which had slipped out of place and twitching her skirt back into alignment. What ever had possessed her to make lavender her signature shade? She didn't even like that colour.

When her world had fallen apart with the dissolution of the team of friends on the island, when all three of the boys had gone their own ways and she had been left to choose amongst the more limited opportunities available to the females of her culture, she had spent her days brooding, hiding in the many secret places to be found in the jungle and plotting revenge on everyone who had conspired to destroy her life. Emerging from a prolonged bout of self-pity, she decided to take matters under her own control and set out for the mainland. There, she re-invented herself.

If she had been a brunette when he left her, she would now be a blonde. She had her thick hair cropped and crimped until it framed her face like the petals of a chrysanthemum, then bleached and toned until it resembled that flower in colour as well. Next step, a good corsetiere. Then off to a dress-maker. It took almost every penny she had been able to save to pay for her transformation but it was worth it. Even the choice of lavender had been a deliberate turning away from everything which had defined her earlier.

The final step was to choose a new name. Talya did not fit the sophisticated and seductive creature she saw reflected in the shop windows as she passed nor was it suitable for a woman who caused heads to turn when she ventured along the streets and byways. It took a while, but one day while she was trying on yet another pair of stiletto-heeled sandals, she noticed the brand of a fashion house so exclusive only the most affluent could aspire to its goods. That was it! Just what she had been looking for. Henceforth, she would be the Lady LeBlanc!

With a last critical look to make sure she was a nearly perfect as she could manage, she flicked her fan and turned away from the looking glass. She was expecting a guest and must welcome him properly.

-X-

She was nervously pacing the floor of her bedroom when the bell sounded in the downstairs hall. The faint voice of her houseman, Ormi, floated up the stairs followed by a deeper voice, speaking so distinctly she could make out the words even at this distance.

"Good afternoon, I am the Meyvn Nooj of the Youth League. I received a message that I might learn something of interest if I came here."

Another murmur in the lighter tones of Ormi and the sound of the door closing, more murmuring - she stood up and checked in the mirror again. So he was finally here; she would see him again. There had been so many years between the days they had played adventure on the island and this time when adventure was work not entertainment. She wondered if he would recognize in her the skinny brown girl who had been there when he killed his first man and who had strapped up the bullet wound which had shattered his shoulder. She doubted he would. She had changed - changed herself - and he had been changed by fate, or so she heard.

The walk down the curving staircase was an eternity and a eyeblink, rather as she thought the walk to the scaffold might be. Ormi had put the guest in the reception room, the one with the great table of refreshments and the comfortable chairs. LeBlanc hesitated and almost fled as she reached out for the knob. Courage! That was the watchword. She patted her pocket, feeling the rotund shape of the Sphere tucked inside. If he did not know her, she had an excuse for summoning him here and need not blurt out her identity. She swallowed the saliva which had collected in her mouth and turned the latch.

The well-oiled door swung silently on its hinges, not alerting the man who stood near the dais with his back turned. LeBlanc looked at him. He had grown taller since she last saw him and his hair seemed darker. He was thinner and ... he was lame. He leaned heavily on the cane he held in his left hand, a hand itself odd in appearance, sheathed in a leather glove and attached to a wrist made of - metal? And the left leg? Metal as well? She had not known the details of his injuries. Her own work had kept her occupied most of the time and she had little leisure for news gathering as she had clawed her way up to her present prominence. Could this be the Nooj she had played with on their island? The strong, swift leader of their team? She knew he had been hurt during the final year of the war against Sin but not like this ... Not this much ... Hastily, she composed her face before speaking.

"Meyvn Nooj?" He turned slowly, as she perceived he must do most things these days and met her gaze. Her heart broke a little more when she saw the spectacles insecurely balanced on his nose.

For a moment, a flicker of puzzlement crossed his face, then disappeared. "Madame. I am at your service. You sent for me?"

"Yes, please be seated. Ormi, some tea, if you please." She gestured toward the sofa and chairs around the small individual tables.

He lowered himself to the sofa, the prosthetic left leg stretched out in front of him as though it was too much effort to bend the metal knee. "Thank you." Again that quick question glinted in his eye.

"I am LeBlanc, the founder of the LeBlanc Syndicate. We make it our business to hunt out spheres of all types and offer them on the open market. I have heard of your search for ancient spheres dealing with the history of Spira. Since the historical spheres are worth little compared to the others, I have decided to offer those we find to you for your research project." She chuckled lightly. "At no cost; it will be our gift to the planet. And we can deduct the value from our taxes." Another laugh. "All I would like in return is a regular report of how the study is going and what you have learned."

Nooj had sat up straighter in surprise as her offer became clear. "Madame LeBlanc, you are generosity itself. I shall make it my personal concern to keep you up to date on what we discover and shall make prominent mention of your support in our quarterly report. This is an unexpected gift and one most appreciated." He leaned over to take her hand and bestow a formal kiss on the back.

LeBlanc shivered inwardly at the touch of his lips on her skin. He had never kissed her before. He had gripped her shoulder, patted her back, slapped her lightly on the head but never kissed her. Should she tell him who she was? She found her mouth dry and her tongue wooden. All she could manage was a weak smile and a nod.

Silently, she pulled the sphere from her pocket and handed it to him. It was a very old one, showing some sort of mysterious vault under a temple and the half-obliterated image of a great musical instrument, a structure resembling a pipe organ, whose purpose was still a mystery. The scholars in the hire of The Syndicate had been unable to tease out the meaning of the record; perhaps those affiliated with the Youth League would be more successful.

As the man beside her hungrily turned the sphere over in his hands, she let herself look more deeply at him. The face she remembered from her youth was lined beyond its years and the fierce hawk's eyes tamed behind the lens of the spectacles he now wore. But it was still Nooj, still the echo of the boy she had known so long ago. Behind it all, behind the replacement limbs, the cane, the pain so deep inside she could only just perceive it, she caught a fugitive glimpse of the companion of her childhood. They had grown up, both of them and were no longer the partners they had been on the island. She had traded her stolen knife for a selection of fan-weapons and the obedience of a small army of supporters. He had traded his short sword for ... what? She wanted to know everything about what had happened to him since those days, wanted to be his confidante - and perhaps more. For a wild moment, she was inclined to tell him who she was but something, perhaps fear stopped her. This was not yet the time.

He looked up and caught the intensity of her gaze. "Forgive me, madame, I keep having a feeling we have met before. You seem strangely familiar. Is it possible we have attended the same celebration or something of the sort?"

LeBlanc shook her head. "I would remember, I am sure. No. I think this is the first meeting between LeBlanc and Nooj. I am sure it will not be the last."

If he was curious about the odd phrasing of her response, he did not show it, turning his attention back to the sphere before carefully stowing it away.

"I must be off on League business, Madame LeBlanc. Again let me tell you how grateful I am for your incredible offer. I can see we shall have much to discuss in the days ahead." He struggled to his feet and, bowing over her hand, took his leave.

LeBlanc leaned against the door which had just closed behind him. So, there must be a fresh start. A new beginning, this time on more equal footing. Firmly she put aside her memories of what he had been and her sorrow at what he had lost. He was as newly created as was she and they could find whatever was meant for them together. She would not lose him again, no matter what it took. She would not lose.

She had set her hook well and firmly and needed only to twitch the line from time to time. She smiled at the thought of the chest of spheres in her storage room, spheres which she would dole out one by one to draw him to her. To LeBlanc. She would see if he could abandon what she had made of herself as easily as he left what she had been.

With a grin of anticipation she tasted her childhood name for him and thought how surprised he would be to hear it again.


	2. Chapter 2

6/30/06

**No Return**

LeBlanc cursed herself for her foolishness. She had let herself fall prey to the common fantasy of returning to a time of her life which now existed only in a sepia retrospect. She had sprawled on her heart-shaped bed and dreamed of rebuilding a relationship which had never really been more than a coming-together of a few children equally scorned by most of their age group. What she had remembered as a daring quartet of adventurers was no more that a rag-tag crew of outsiders, inventing their own world and trying to inhabit it. She had learned the impossibility of catching a dream in even the finest net.

Impatiently, she sprang up and began pacing the over-crowded bed room, kicking aside garments tried and discarded, tangling her bare feet in sashes and ribbons. She stood for a while and looked into the tall case which stood empty opposite the bed. The wild thought of kidnapping her selected prey and locking him in the container flashed into her mind and was rejected only reluctantly.

Then, like the practical woman she had made of herself, she pulled up the reins of her rebellious mind and started to dress. He would be here soon and she was resolved to play her ace this time. It would be the fourth time they had met this year, the fourth time she had twitched the bait of historical spheres and he had obediently come to her hand. His tentative and uncertain memory of her as Talya lessened each time and she was growing impatient with her progress. Hand-kissing was as far as physical contact had advanced; she would have welcomed a hearty slap on the back or any other acknowledgement that they shared something, anything, worth sharing.

He obviously did not recognize her. How could he, she admonished herself? She had changed in so many ways, in both appearance and behavior. The more he saw of her as the woman she was now, the less likely he was to connect it to the girl she had been in their past. If she wanted him to know who she was, she would have to come right out and tell him.

The sound of his voice from the floor below momentarily unnerved her. What would he say when she finally told him? His temper had never been particularly sweet and this was the sort of thing that used to set it blazing. He hated to be played for the fool. She fanned herself vigorously for a few minutes and, steeling her courage, started down the stairs.

-X-

As was the usual pattern, Nooj was waiting in the reception room. He never relaxed and helped himself to the refreshments kept spread out there, never seemed even to notice the hospitality offered by the housemen. Maybe she should try female attendants? No. She wanted no competition. It would be her or nobody. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

"Meyvn! How good to see you." That was not what she had intended to say. She had meant to use the pet name from their childhood. Well, she had missed her chance this time.

He moved to her and took the hand she held out, bending over it and placing a light formal kiss on the smooth skin. "Lady LeBlanc. It is kind of you to make time to receive me." He looked up at her and smiled. She noticed it was a sort of falsely ingratiating expression. The sphere collecting must be going badly if he thought it necessary to butter her up like that.

It might have been all the practice she had been doing in her room with the door closed in front of the full-length mirror. It might have been her impatience with herself for her cowardice. It might have been the sudden understanding that she had him at a disadvantage and could act as she chose. Whatever it was, she said it. "Oh Noojie-Woojie, I can always find time to visit with you." With that, she flicked her fan wide and simpered behind it.

LeBlanc felt as though she had been extracted from her body and was watching an exceptionally sharply focused sphere recording. Her heart beat so fiercely she thought she might faint as she saw the color flooding Nooj's face, turning it as scarlet as his shirt and then receding with the suddenness that often precedes a tsunami. She recalled he always went ashen when upset but she had never seen him so pale as he was at this moment. Her fear of fainting transferred to him. Everything was happening so slowly. He looked at her and his mouth dropped open; his eyes widened behind the lens of the spectacles. Sound ceased in the room. Paralysis froze the scene.

Then sensation surged back with such a rush that she nearly fell before the onslaught.

"Wha...what did you call me?" His voice was raspy, choked as though the throat through which it must emerge had grown narrow and dusty.

She could not speak.

"Who are you?" Nooj reached out his left hand and tore away the fan, snarling into the face now revealed in its entirety. "She was brown haired and brave and honest. How do you know her?"

LeBlanc finally managed to whisper, "I'm Talya, just grown up. I'm Talya."

"No. You're not Talya. She would never have done such a dishonest thing. Have you killed her? If you have, your life is forfeit and you won't last another hour." He gripped her upper arm until she could feel his fingers grating against the bone.

"I'm Talya. You left me and I wanted to find you. That's all I've done." She heard herself whining and wished she could stop. This was not the way it was supposed to happen. He should be happy to see her - at worst, a little annoyed that she had fooled him. He was not supposed to be this coldly furious man who could kill her with a flick of the hand.

"Please, Nooj. Let me explain. You're hurting me." She whimpered.

With a sneer of disgust, he released her and folded his arms, the cane ominously poised. "Tell me about Talya. If you can."

LeBlanc sank onto the couch and caught her breath. "I am Talya. When you didn't come back home to Kilika, I decided to come to the mainland to find you. Talya as she was didn't fit, so I changed her to give her a better chance."

"You were looking for me? Why?"

"Because you're important to me, you ought to know that." She let a tint of hope creep into her voice.

"If you are, indeed, Talya - tell me who our companions were." He was implacable.

"There was Aquil, the laughing one, and Langt who became a priest. And me, I was the tom-boy who bandaged you when the guard shot you." She spoke with quiet certainty.

Nooj lowered himself limply into the chair behind him. "So you are Talya. Well, now that you've found me, are you satisfied? What do you plan to do now?"

"I don't know. I don't know what I expected when we met again. I guess I thought you would know me. I knew you."

"Ah, but I have not changed as much. Or maybe I have. I don't suppose you expected me to be missing so many of the parts I had when we were kids."

"I heard you had been hurt. Didn't know how much. And you have changed, as much as I have, just in different directions. Noojie, is there anything left for us?" She leaned forward and reached out as though to touch him, then drew back when she saw his expression.

"Don't call me that! I don't like it."

"You can't stop me. It's all I have left of the boy I knew and ..."

He held up a palm to quiet her. "Stay away from memories. They're dead, like the people who inhabit them. I am not Nooj the Adventurer; I am Nooj, the Deathseeker. You are not Talya; you are the Lady LeBlanc. We don't have any memories in common."

"So it's true. You are looking to die. I hoped that was just part of the stories about you. Why?" She gazed intently into his eyes.

"It's too long to tell and not your affair. Do you have a sphere for me or was that just another trick of yours?"

She rose tiredly. "It was not a trick. I have a sphere for you. A good one this time. It shows someone using that queer machine in the first one I found for you. Don't worry, I plan keep my word and pass along any historical records I find. You don't have to run away from me again." LeBlanc pushed the bell on the wall to summon Ormi.

Nooj raked her with a glance. "I do not run away from anything. You may remember that."

"You just assured me we have no memories to share so how can I know that?" She took the sphere from the turtle-shaped houseman and passed it to Nooj. "I'll send word when I have more."

"Spira and I are both appreciative of your generosity, Lady LeBlanc." He bowed and was gone.

"Ormi, please send for my masseur. I need to rest and make new plans." The woman trudged up the stairs, more dependent on the hand-rail than was her custom.

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	3. Chapter 3

7/4/06

**The Statue**

LeBlanc was not satisfied with the way her life was progressing. Sphere-hunting had become a bore which not even the challenge from the Gullwings could enliven. All anyone seemed to find these days were the repetitive recordings of second and third rate entertainers from a time more than a decade back. She had begun using those spheres to play bocce in the corridor behind the hidden door. It was as good a use as any since nobody would pay even a token sum for them. She still had a stash of historical treasures but even being careful how she doled them out, she was not sure she would have enough to keep Nooj coming back with none being discovered to replace those she handed to him.

He had never mentioned the episode in which she had told him who she was, still referring to her as 'the Lady LeBlanc' and preserving strict formality when in her presence. All her efforts to rekindle the friendship from so long ago were met with a cool "I haven't known Talya since I left Kilika." She did not dare throw a tantrum lest he refuse to come to her even to collect the artifacts he lusted after. She had tried to seduce him but was unable to even coax him up the curving staircase to the upper floor where her bedroom was located. Sometimes she wondered if he had taken a vow of celibacy. Deep in her convictions, she cherished the faith that if she could simply keep him with her for one night, he would not want to leave her again. It had worked with other men, why not with Nooj?

LeBlanc was bored, bored beyond tolerating. She stared at the tall glass case across from her bed, its emptiness reflected in the mirror. She had bought it on a whim, not thinking what it could be used for. It was enough that it was well made and a bargain. Now an idea was taking shape in her brain.

"Logos! Get up here! I've got an errand for you."

-X-

It took a week of negotiations but LeBlanc finally found a sculptor who seemed capable of producing what she wanted. Her requirements were stringent and she was both willing and able to pay to have them met. So the commission was awarded. An image of the hero Nooj, Meyvn of the Youth League, Warrior against the last Sin, would be produced in the colors and proportions of the man himself. It would show him as he looked at this time in his life. The artist would apply all his skills as well as the most advanced techniques available toward making the statue as realistic as possible down to the most minute detail. When finished, it would be placed in the case in the lady's bedroom and carefully lighted so that she would have the illusion of her obsession always in her view.

While she waited for the statue to be finished, LeBlanc held back from sending for Nooj. She needed to prove to herself that she could resist the compulsion to see him. Besides, absence quickened desire.

During this time of denial, she examined her own mind with the exacting diligence she would have applied to analyzing a business competitor. As she saw it much of her confusion and lack of productive focus arose from the fact she was unable to choose which person she was when she was with Nooj. Was she the girl Talya who had been his right hand and platonic companion when they were children together exploring their island home? Or was she the sophisticated woman LeBlanc who desired a more complete relationship with the man the intervening years had made of him? She volleyed from one dream to the other without being completely drawn to either. This indecision was unlike her normal way of dealing with difficult questions. As the head of her organization, she had taught herself to make choices quickly and neither regret them nor change without compelling reason. What froze her in this case? Why could she not see the factors clearly? As had become her habit, she created imaginary conversations with which to explore the various aspects of a problem.

She lay back on the chaise, closed her eyes and summoned up the scene she had replayed so often with so many variations.

"Now that you've found me, are you satisfied?" The man in the scarlet clothing looked directly at her.

LeBlanc thought for a while. That was what she always imagined him asking; it was her response which varied, depending on what she saw as truth on a given day. What was she expecting when she came to the mainland? What would it take to fill the void which continued to torment her?

"Not yet, Noojie. I want things to be as they were when we were children." She had never before used that as an answer.

"Then you are more foolish that I ever imagined you might be. You want to go back to a time when you thought you were happy, forgetting all the troubles and suffering of then. Why not just go all the way back? Back to your mother's womb? It makes as much sense as what you're asking right now." He thumped his cane on the floor for emphasis.

"You know what I mean. I want to be now what I was to you then. Don't try to pretend you don't understand what I'm saying."

"You want to be my little friend? The little girl who hung on my heels and did exactly what I told her to do? You are a fool. I'm not that boy anymore and you're not that little girl. We've grown up, you said so yourself. We have lived. Changed. I have lost much and learned even more. I have no idea what life has done to you but you are not that girl I barely remember. She wasn't a bad person but she doesn't exist any longer. Accept that!" He pointed at the empty glass case. "I think you want to seal us both up in that box and pump out all the air so that we are preserved in what you see as a state of perfection. It won't work, lady."

LeBlanc whimpered. That was not the way it should go. Why did it never turn out the way she expected? No matter how she answered the question he posed, it never worked out happily. She tried again.

"Now that you've found me, are you satisfied?" The man in the scarlet clothing looked directly at her.

"Satisfied to know you're still alive. Yes." She said softly.

"That was all you wanted? You could have asked around. It wasn't necessary for you to make all the effort you did." He raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, it was. I needed to look into your face and see if I still knew you."

"And?"

"I know you. You're still the same one I followed without question or hesitation back in the old days, Noojie. I'm ready to follow you again and be whatever you want me to be to you." She stood and walked within easy reach of him.

"I have enough followers, LeBlanc. I'm not recruiting more. Stay in your own world. Mine can be dangerous." He leaned back slightly.

"Why won't you call me Talya? Why do I scare you?"

"You're not Talya anymore and you don't scare me. It's just I don't want to hurt you. There has been enough pain connected to me." Nooj looked away into a distance she could not see.

"No! I won't let you go. We had something years ago and it's not all gone. I've got faith it's still there. I've hunted you and found you and I'm not going to lose you again!" She gripped him as firmly as she could, only belatedly realizing she was clutching metal not flesh.

He laughed gently when she hastily let go. "You aren't as ready as you thought to deal with what I am, are you? LeBlanc, it's no use. There's nothing to recover. I've told you what I am. Accept that and don't put yourself where you'll be hurt again - I don't want that. I'm on my own journey and you cannot come with me."

"Why?" she wailed. "What does Death mean to you? Why ...?"

He seemed to recede into the curtains and walls of the room. She still had not given the answer he required. Maybe when she had the image of him imprisoned in the case instead of her mind's eye, she could find her way to the proper words. Maybe if he knew she had his eidolon held and enshrined, he would come up to the room and she could ... She tossed restlessly. What had happened to change him so? Why was Death more desirable than she was? She knew he had been caught in the embrace of that Dark Mistress when he had fallen prey to Sin, but he had escaped. What made the return to that cold bed so compelling?

Since her first adult encounter with the champion from her childhood, LeBlanc had invested both time and money in learning all she could about his adventures since he had joined the Crusaders and later the Crimson Squad. Stories about him abounded but no explanations. He was a great hero who never hesitated to hurl himself into the fore of the battle. He risked his life as a routine action, defending those who fought alongside him. He lived like a monk among a motley mob of adherents who all but worshipped him. He spent his time accumulating and cataloging spheres dealing with Spiran history. He was dedicated to the search for his own death. That was all. No friendships, no connections, no human details were to be had. He was aloof and alone with no cracks in the shell he presented to the world. She stamped her foot, denting the parquet of the floor with her heel, then stretched out again on the chaise, forcing her mind into a zone of quiet serenity before she called up the vision once more.

"Now that you've found me, are you satisfied?" The man in the scarlet clothing looked directly at her.

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	4. Chapter 4

7/9/06

_Warning and note: This is my own imagining of how LeBlanc might have reacted to certain events. It is not intended to be a strictly canonical rendering of the character who inhabits the Square/Enix game. I freely acknowledge their rights to the character, her name, and the happenings I am manipulating but the results of that manipulation are mine. _

_One other thing - this is set at a time shortly after the defeat of Sin and before the emergence of Vegnagun as a threat. In the world I am creating, the craze for spheres is just taking off and there are more available to be found than later in this interim period. _

**What is Truth?**

It was probably only a coincidence that word of a new cache of spheres in the wastelands of the Calm Lands came at the same time LeBlanc recognized she was changing. She had taken pride in her tough demeanor and her ability to rise above the maudlin sentimentality of most women. Now she was horrified to feel her heart beat faster at the sight of couples nuzzling in corners and was appalled to look down at a paper on which she was outlining plans for a financial coup and see intertwined hearts with familiar initials drawn precisely over the calculations. It was as though she had become possessed by some entity which was using her for its own purposes.

It would be at least another week before she could expect delivery of the statue and her will power was beginning to wilt. It was unlikely she would be able to resist summoning Nooj much longer. Already she was beginning to fancy that she had forgotten his face.

"Logos! Ormi! Get up here!" She called, yanking on the bell pull as well.

When the two servants burst through the door, she greeted them with a flick of her fan. "When I call you, I want you here immediately. What took you so long? Get us packed. We're going to the Calm Lands." Leaving them to deal with the luggage, she stormed downstairs to call a hover for the long trip.

This could be her opportunity to lighten her mood, to become her old self again. She would be once again the LeBlanc who had made her own way in the brutal business world of Spira, casting aside this silly chit gone soft and sentimental, sitting around brooding, holding imaginary conversations. It would do her good to get back into the field, head to head with other teams of sphere hunters, particularly the Gullwings. It would remind her of who she was - LeBlanc, head of the Syndicate, not some moping adolescent, dreaming of a champion to sweep her away into some existence she could not even fantasize about.

-X-

"Spread out now," LeBlanc instructed the goons, gesturing with her fan. "I'm going to check out the trading post and see if any spheres have surfaced there and see who's working this site. You have the maps I gave you; go poke in some of the more iffy spots, the ones down on the ledges. Those silly Gullwings are too girly to risk their complexions in real hunting."

Logos dissented mildly. "The one they call Paine is pretty tough. I have a picture of her..." His voice trailed off as he heard what he was saying. "Oww!" He hopped frantically away as LeBlanc's heel came down hard on his instep. "I didn't mean nothing! I was just thinking!"

"Leave the thinking to those who have the tools for it." She set a brisk pace toward the little settlement in the west section of the wilderness. So this was the land where Noojie had spent those years learning to be a Warrior? The Calm Lands was so vast an area, she could not be sure just where he had lived and studied during that time. There was probably a camp somewhere with barracks and tents and all the things that went along with military training. She thought of the information she had collected about his days as a cadet. It had not been easy for him; he had found the discipline weighed heavily on his spirit and had been alternately beaten and praised. ... And had finished at the top of his class. She wondered if he had been in love with Death even then or if it had only come to that when Sin tore him apart.

She shook herself from her reverie when she heard the sound of haggling voices and realized she was on the grounds of the agency. A man dressed in the carefully preserved finery of a prosperous farmer called out to her.

"Hey, lady. Come meet my son. He's a good boy and you'll like him."

For no other purpose than to amuse herself, she strolled over to the importuning man. "What's so special about your son?" She asked idly.

"He's going to inherit my estate and any girl who catches him will be fixed for life. You interested?"

"If he's such a catch, why doesn't he speak up for himself," she queried with a smile.

The man looked over at the boy sitting on the bench and leaned closer to LeBlanc. "He's shy. Never learned how to court a woman. Not like his old man." A genial leer made his meaning clear. "Whadya think?"

She looked at the lad as she might have examined a colt for sale at a livestock market. He was obviously several years younger than she, short with a stocky build and hefty legs. His hair must have begun the day neatly combed but it was sticking up in the back where he had run his fingers through it. His, obviously best, clothes were a little too tight and showed sweat stains under the arms and in the middle of the back. Unbidden, the image of Nooj interposed itself between her eye and its object. The tall, once graceful form of the Warrior was such a bitter contrast with the pathetic bumpkin, LeBlanc grew chilled and almost gasped aloud. Collecting herself, she faced the anxious father and shook her head.

"No. I have an admirer already." She lied with the smoothness of long practice, flavored with the honey of hope. "Your son looks like a fine man and I'm sure he won't have any problems finding a wife to do him justice."

The farmer caught her flowing sleeve as she turned to go. "If you meet up with anybody needing a husband, could you just mention..."

"Of course, I'll be glad to." She hastened away to the open market, not looking back at the sad pair. She hoped nobody who knew her had witnessed her moment of kindness. It was absurdly out of character.

-X-

As the day wore on, LeBlanc and her team counted up their spoils. Searching in the less accessible and more perilous areas had paid off nicely. They had eleven spheres, all but a couple of reasonable value. There were no great treasures, but the haul would turn a modest profit and only two of the goons had been killed. The Lady considered the expedition to be a grand success, taken all in all. She stowed the three historical recordings away on her person to keep them safe until she could add them to what she privately called her 'Noojie Bait', the chest of spheres she relied upon to call him to her. The other six were split between popular entertainment and family mementos which usually found a good market among the more nostalgic members of the leisured class. Compiling amusing simulations of an imaginary past had become a fad of late and the wealthy competed to acquire the most outlandish pseudo-relatives. Yes, it had been worth the effort. Not only had she made money but she had managed to pass another span of time without yielding to the impulse to see and touch Nooj. Well worth the effort.

She considered staying the night at the inn and doing another sweep on the morrow but the thought of sharing space with the farmer and his lumpish son depressed her and she doubted there were many more recordings to be found. Nearly a dozen teams had criss-crossed the Calm Lands all day and none had gone completely empty handed. Better to go home and dream of the day his likeness would greet her when she woke and send her to good dreams in the night. She trembled in anticipation and doubt. Would it really look like him? The sculptor had not been able to work from life but had to rely on photographs and such. How good could the likeness be?

Suddenly, it was as though she stood within an incandescent column of fire as the desire for him enfolded her. Was this love she felt? Was that the answer to the eternal question he posed? Had she sought him out because she loved him to the depths of her being and always had? She found herself unable to breathe or move. Dimly, she heard the alarmed voices of her servants. When a hand penetrated her cell, she clutched at it desperately, only to find it belonged to Logos. With a great gasp, she slapped it aside and leaned against the rails of the fence penning the chocobos until she could stand unaided.

"Go get a hover," she commanded hoarsely. She needed quiet and privacy in which to try to puzzle out what had just happened. Love had been no part of her plans. She was not exactly sure what her reason was when she set out on her hunt but it had nothing to do with love. She did not believe she was capable of such an emotion. Desire? She was not an innocent and had enjoyed her share of men but love? No. Nor was it likely now. She was tired and the interview with the farmer had upset her. Things would settle down when she was in her own home again. She leaned back in the hover, closed her eyes and thought about shoopufs.

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	5. Chapter 5

7/23/06

**It Is He (5)**

The commission was finally finished. A message had come the day before that the statue was ready to be delivered and installed in the glass case in the room at the top of the stairs. The case had been washed and polished until it was almost impossible to see the panes which made up its sides. No smear, no smudge, not a single fingerprint was to be tolerated on the gleaming surfaces. Looking at the vitrine, LeBlanc all at once realized the very brilliance of the glass would obscure her vision of the contents of the case and a hasty call was sent out for craftsmen who could treat the material with a non-reflective coating so that the barrier between the viewer and the viewed would be truly erased.

The mistress of the house had found the strength to resist her impulses until this day. She had not sent for the man she was preparing to receive in simulacrum, nor had she spent the intervening days swooning over the prospect of his arrival either in flesh or in replica. On the contrary, she had gone about her business of finding salable spheres and other valuable objects and turning those discoveries into the cash needed to keep her Syndicate afloat. The enterprise on which she was embarked was proving more expensive than she had thought. But then, she had expanded her pursuit in order to accomplish her plans more completely.

She closed her ledger and held out a slip of paper to Ormi. "Find an envelope for this. It's the final payment to the sculptor and his atelier. I don't want to have to bother with it once the installation is done. You take care of everything."

The man shaped like a pie pan bent as far as his physique would allow and grunted an affirmative before scuttling from the room.

LeBlanc was aware of the fact that both her personal servants were in love with her. She had know it for a long time and had found it advantageous to pretend she did not, casually abusing both Ormi and Logos as the fancy took her. She invented humiliating tasks for them and punished them cruelly when they failed at the impossible requirements she laid upon them. It helped to establish her reputation as one not to be crossed with impunity. It also amused her.

She considered what she had been doing. After the epiphany in the Calm Lands, she had become unable to think of love and its implications. Her mind skittered away from the very concept like a cat which has come too close to a fire. So, she dismissed the sensibilities of her servants with a ladylike snort and resumed her pacing.

-X-

It was done. LeBlance could not make herself stay to watch as the tall, shrouded figure had been moved gingerly up the curving stairs and throught the doors. She had barricaded herself in the back of the reception room and clamped her palms over her ears so as not to hear the thumps and curses floating down to the ground floor. When Logos tiptoed across the room to tell her the workmen had gone, he discovered his mistress in a state of terrified anticipation.

She was just passing through the door held open for her when the bell at the front entrance rang. Uttering a little scream, she jumped back and delivered herself of a stream of inventive curses.

"Go get that and tell whoever's there, I'm not home. Get rid of whoever it is," she hissed through her teeth, slipping out of sight so that she would not give the lie to her orders.

Logos obediently swung open the heavy door. "Sir! Meyvn! ... She's not..."

"Is the Lady LeBlanc in?" Nooj's baritone rode over the tenor of the willowy houseman.

From her retreat, LeBlanc heard the interchange and started abruptly toward the door. In her haste, one of her shoes slipped off and, rather than pause to recover it, she kicked off the other and proceeded, bare-foot, with what dignity she could muster to greet her guest.

"Noojie," she did not notice the ominous tightening of his brow, "How lovely to see you. Do come in." She held out a graceful hand in welcome just as Logos blundered up with her discarded footwear.

"Your shoes, madam."

She flipped a dismissive gesture in his direction. "Just set them down and go do whatever you're supposed to be doing right now. Meyvn, will you join me in the reception room?"

Her mind was a maelstrom with bits of thought swirling like debris after a storm and making her dizzy. There was the long awaited eidolon in the case upstairs; the one she was frantic to see. Here was the man himself. She stumbled slightly and felt the Meyvn's steadying hand catch her arm.

"I won't take your time. I can see you're very busy this afternoon. I promised you periodic reports on our history project and I suddenly realized it had been nearly a month since I made good on that promise." He nodded toward a portfolio he clutched against his side. "We have made some progress in deciphering where the mysterious spheres were recorded. It's all detailed in there with some copies of still photographs from the records. We are finding this fascinating and are extremely grateful for your co-operation."

"It's my pleasure," she responded automatically, holding onto him for balance as she eased her feet back into her shoes. Once shod, she felt less vulnerable, less like a sparrow before a hawk. It also helped that the stiletto heels prevented her having to squint up at him from such a distance.

In the reception room, LeBlanc waved her guest to a chair and, seating herself, surreptitiously completed the task of adjusting her shoes. Still somewhat flustered, she opened the portfolio he offered to her and pretended to read the closely packed pages of technical information contained within.

"You've learned a lot."

"Yes, some of it is potentially alarming. There are hints of another danger to the world lurking in a secret location." Nooj looked at her, his dark eyes sharp with the intensity of his concern. "I cannot tell you how important it is that we learn more. Any spheres from the past are critical, particularly any from Luca or Bevelle."

She nodded, trying to memorize his face. "I'll stay on watch. Never fear, You'll get all I can find." A passing stab of guilt pierced her at the thought of the carefully concealed chest stored behind the secret door, the chest brimming with hoarded spheres.

LeBlanc was having a hard time keeping her attention on his words. She wanted to touch him, to feel his skin under her hands. The saliva collected in her mouth until she had to swallow convulsively. When he raised a curious eyebrow, she had no response.

"I hope I'm not boring you, LeBlanc," he remarked courteously. "I sometimes forget that not everyone finds the mysteries of this planet as fascinating as I do." He began his preparations to rise from the awkwardly low couch on which he was seated. "I'll go now and leave you to your more pressing concerns."

"No, no. Don't go." She leapt to her feet and threw herself on the cushion beside him. "Please stay a little longer. How are things with you?" She watched the movement of his lips and the angle of his nose, drawing them in her mind so that she could compare them to the work of art which awaited her at the top of the stairs. With hesitation she stretched out her hand to touch the one which lay on his knee, the one with the bones and tendons under the skin. It was warm and strong. She knew the other would be equally strong but cold and unyielding, with black leather rather than lightly browned skin flexing under her touch. "Noojie ..." She was not sure what she intended to say.

"Please, I've asked you not to call me that." A quickly surpressed anger flared in his eyes as he withdrew from her touch. "I really must be going. We both have duties to attend to." With long practiced moves, he manipulated his prosthetic leg so that he could use it as a lever and, with the aid of the cane, regained his feet.

"It is always kind of you to receive me, particularly when I arrive unannounced and unexpectedly." He bowed over her hand and she felt the softness of his lips against her skin. Before she could catch herself, she placed both hands behind his neck and drew his face to her, kissing him passionately on the mouth. He did not resist for a moment, then gently disengaged from her embrace.

He stood for a short time looking at her with an air of bewildered amusement, then silently turned and limped to the door. LeBlanc remained as he had left her, astonished at her own impulsive action, clinging to the feel and taste of his lips. It was not enough.

She sprang up and rushed through the door, across the foyer and up the stairs. Without stopping to look at her new installation, she flung open the case and darted inside. Standing on tiptoe and wrapping her arms around the neck of the statue, she pressed her lips against those of the unyielding image, infusing it - in her fervour - with the warmth and flavor of the living man. She could almost feel the response.

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	6. Chapter 6

7/31/06

**THE VITRINE - 6**

LeBlanc stood in front of the vitrine and stared through the glare-proof glass. The coating on the surface did not hinder vision but did impose a slight haze as though an alien atmosphere existed between the object inside and the viewer. This added considerably to the illusion of reality which had been so deliberately cultivated.

The sculptor, through some genius, had managed to invest the image with the very stuff of life. The man he had created seemed to be only momentarily arrested in the act of breathing, of moving. It was difficult not to believe that the chest would rise and fall and the nostrils quiver if one watched long enough.

Day after day, the woman had spent her time watching. She had been able to find no flaw in her new possession. In fact, each day seemed to increase the perception of perfection. She thought she would catch a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye and found herself spinning around only to be exasperated by her own credulity.

But it was in the nights that the fragile crystal of her sanity was most nearly shattered.

When the light of the two Spiran moons sent its phosphorescent tentacles to curl about the contents of the case, she would watch through the screen of her lashes as he turned, opened the door and moved to her bedside with the dream-like grace she remembered from their shared youth. For long moments he would stand over her, his expression changing with the passage of the light then ...

What would happen next was rarely the same but it was always satisfying in every way. Sometimes she would wake in the morning to discover on her linens the physical evidence of their pleasure; more often the morning would bring the memory of tender touches and a sleep pillowed on a broad smooth chest. She would open her eyes and exchange glances with the man who had returned to his place in the vitrine - except one dawn when he was facing away from her and she had to reposition him with trembling, uncertain hands.

-X-

The business of the Syndicate continued in its normal fashion. LeBlanc had so organized it that it nearly ran itself needing only the occasional touch from her to keep things in train. The chateau itself remained a demi-fortress with habit forming a protective moat for the inhabitants. Logos and Ormi went about their duties without fuss. She hardly noticed their hang-dog expressions and the yearning eyes with which they followed her. She hardly noticed anything at all, saving her attention for the hours she spent in her room, alone with the statue.

Each week, she would rummage through the contents of the "Noojie-bait" chest and select a sphere with which to lure him to her web. He came on demand but rarely stayed long. While he was there, he seemed wary and likely to keep his distance so that she had not had another opportunity to embrace him. Their conversations were stilted, bearing entirely upon the latest indications of impending danger to the planet. LeBlanc was bored by such and, little by little, found herself taking greater pleasure in the company of the night-visitor than the living man.

-X-

He stooped over her supine form. She reached up to tangle her fingers in his braids and pull him toward her until he seated himself lightly on the side of the bed and gathered her to him. She did not question how the mechanical limbs so precisely duplicated by the sculptor could feel warm and flesh-like when they touched her.

"You are here." She breathed against his cheek. "I was so lonely..."

He stroked her gently, soothing her, trailing his fingers along the shell of her ear and down her throat.

"I was lonely." She traced the shape of his lips with her forefinger. "When you left the island, I was alone and I missed you. I didn't know I loved you until you were gone." She buried her face against his chest and did not dare look at him.

"I know love is not rational. But I love you. And you know as well as I that none of the others could take your place. You were our leader. My idol, my hero, my ... Noojie! I know what you are. You're what I've needed. Tell me you don't hate me."

He smiled and shook his head, his lips shaping his denial.

The words echoed in her mind. "I had hoped you didn't but I needed to hear it." She burrowed ever more deeply into his arms. "I need to feel it. Hold me. Love me."

He lowered his head to her silver-gilt curls and murmured soft unintelligible sounds into the tousled mass. LeBlanc sighed and abandoned herself to the pleasure of the moment, deferring until another night the answers he would eventually insist upon her giving.

-X-

That night finally came.

He did not question her every night, just often enough to keep her ill at ease until the moment of the risk was past.

"Why are you here? I've told you over and over. I was lonely and needed you. You are my Noojie," she responded, slow tears weaving down her cheeks. making silver embroideries in the moonlight.

He traced the flow and caught the moisture on his finger, raising a quizzical brow.

"I've missed you so much and didn't even know it until you were gone off to be a Warrior."

He kissed her brow and held her head cupped in his hand.

She hid her face in shame. "I didn't know I loved you until it was too late to tell you so I needed ..." She turned away and sobbed.

He stood up and looked, not at her, but at the vitrine. When he turned back to face her, he was frowning. She had to strain to hear his quiet words before

she choked out her response, "It's not like that. You're not a prisoner; you're my treasure."

The Nooj image suddenly fixed her with his glittering eyes. A storm of accusations crashed about her, his voice rising with each count he leveled at her feeble defences.

LeBlanc gasped and clutched the bed-clothes to her as though for protection. "But the other one won't respond to me. He doesn't care - doesn't want love. Noojie, don't be angry. I need you so much."

He advanced upon her threateningly. She heard his voice blasting in her ear. "It's always your wants, your needs. Have you ever spared a thought for anyone else? You torment those two freaks who wait on you. You drive your other servants to the brink of despair. But it's always about you. You're no Talya; you have become what you are and what the world sees - a shallow, vulgar, needy wreck of a woman, no longer human, nothing but an endless appetite." He took another step and she noticed he was limping. That frightened her.

"No!" She shrieked and bolted from the bed, stumbling over the sheets as she tried to escape. She was falling, the floor impossibly far away.

Then it was morning. She was huddled on the rug beside the bed, all the linens pulled into a crumpled pile around her. The vitrine was closed and the statue it sheltered was gazing empty-eyed across the room. It was morning and she had an appointment that day with the original of that statue. It was morning and she was undone.

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	7. Chapter 7

8/11/06

**Which? - 7**

A stillness rested over the reception room. Only the buzzing of a fly, investigating the juice oozing from an overly ripe pomegranate, broke the silence. The two persons seated quietly, the one on the couch, the other on the upright chair, might as well have been statues of a particularly realistic type. They shared not the restful and companionable atmosphere of two old friends basking in the presence of one another but the strained and awkward silence of strangers who had run out of things to say and did not know how to take a graceful leave.

Nooj leaned forward in the chair he had chosen, the one which had the higher seat and was easier to get up from. He had brought LeBlanc the latest information from the studies the Youth League had made of the spheres she had supplied and had received a fresh recording from her to take back for further research. His business in this house was done.

The woman, who had been looking at him with a gaze which combined fear and curiosity, was awakened from her contemplation by his move. "You aren't going yet?"

"I'm afraid I must. We both have our duties. It seems as though there will be little time before Spira is endangered again and we have to be ready."

"No. Please stay a little longer, I want to show you something." She was surprised to hear the words come out of her mouth. She had not meant to say that.

He inclined his head politely. "What is it, madame?"

She stood and held out her hand. "Please, come with me. Upstairs. It's there."

"Upstairs? I'm not sure ..." He struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on the cane.

"Please." She laid a light palm on his wrist, not daring to touch him more firmly. "It'll only take a moment."

"Very well. I'll be glad to see what you're talking about." He smiled the smile an adult might bestow upon an importunate child. "But it's getting late and I have a long trip before me."

The setting sun cast crimson light on the polished floor as LeBlanc led the way out of the room and up the right side of the curving staircase from the main floor. The usual servant standing watch outside her private suite snapped to attention as they approached, then sprang to hold back the curtain which screened the entry.

Nooj demurred, "I'm not sure it will be proper for me to go into your sanctum, lady."

"It's all right. I'm not going to attack you." She tried for a feeble joke. He did not seem to hear.

When he first entered the bedroom, the dim light and the thick rug made him stumble slightly so he paused to let his eyes adjust and to take his bearings. To his left was a large, heart-shaped bed with draperies looped up in graceful folds. The only illumination came from a lamp hanging to one side. Across from him was a dresser - its top cluttered with various bottles and jars. Dresses and shoes lay discarded carelessly on the floor and over chairs. But the dominant feature of the room was a tall glass case opposite the bed containing ...

With a choked exclamation, Nooj hobbled toward the vitrine. "What in the hell...? What's this supposed to be?" His voice was low and incredulous.

"It's a statue. Of you." She blurted out. "It's you. Do you like it?"

"What do you think you're up to, woman?" He stood transfixed staring into his own face through the glass.

She stood a few paces behind him, her eyes wide with dismay and her hands clasped at her mouth. Why had she done this foolish thing, showing him the secret shrine she had erected? The night before must have upset her more than she had realized.

"Well?" He faced her, anger and disgust radiating from him like the chill from a deep cavern. "What's the meaning of this?"

"M-meaning?" she stuttered. "Does everything have to have a meaning? I wanted a statue of you and ..."

He interrupted fiercely, "Why did you want a statue of me? Don't you command my presence often enough to remember what I look like? Here." He spread out his arms and raised his chin. "Look at me. Take a good look. This is what I look like. Think you can remember?"

LeBlanc took a hesitant step forward, her hand reaching tentatively toward him. "You were always so much a part of me, when we were children. I just wanted to have something of you near me again."

He stared at her in disbelief. "You're not making any sense. There is nothing of me in this ... this mockery you have here." He dropped himself onto the edge of the bed and immediately regretted it. The mattress shifted sluggishly beneath him as though it was filled with some semi-liquid material. This was not a concept he wanted to consider. However, it would have taken more effort to stand up again than he was willing to spend so he remained seated, trying to move as little as possible.

LeBlanc, seeing his anger fading, finally found words. "Noojie, it's better than nothing. At least I can touch it."

"Touch it? Great Ixion, woman! What are you using that thing for?" A horrified comprehension began to dawn in his mind.

She could only stare at him and shake her head, helplessly.

He looked back at the figure in the case. It exercised a peculiar attraction and he could not keep his eyes away for long.

"What do you do with that thing?" he asked again, mildly. "Does it have some purpose other than to remind you of what I look like?" He asked a question and dreaded the answer.

She came to him and sank to the floor at his feet, leaning her head on his thigh. "Yes. I carried a kiss from your lips to the lips of the statue. And I felt it respond."

He tipped her face up so that he could look into her eyes. "So that was what you were after? Do you have some idea you can make that statue live?"

"Why not? The fayth do. Why shouldn't this? It was carefully made and looks exactly ..."

"Are you as lonely as all that?" His voice was suddenly gentle. "I didn't know."

"You should have!" She burst out, a shadow of anger in her voice. She shifted her position and clasped her hands on his knee. "I've tried to tell you."

"So you have." He turned his attention back to the vitrine. "I am not persuaded that you can waken a statue just because you want to - no matter how carefully it is made or how hard you try. And, another thing, I am not willing to have my essence trapped in this -" he waved his hand at the figure, "this thing for whatever your purposes are. No. Give it up, LeBlanc. You're on the wrong road."

His anger had left, pushed aside by his curiosity and fascination with her unlikely plans.

Encouraged by his slight smile and non-threatening manner, LeBlanc rose lightly and seated herself on the bed beside him, causing the heavy liquid with which the mattress was filled to gently shift. The wave-like motion tilted her against his shoulder. Without thinking, he wrapped his right arm around her to steady her. She raised her head as he bent toward her; their lips met and did not immediately part.

When he drew back from her, he caught her wrists in his hands. She could feel the unyielding force of the metal fingers pressing into her bones. The pain was strangely stimulating and, as she leaned forward, her lips parted and she panted softly.

"So, this is what you want?" He tightened his grip and drew her closer. "Do you want reality or do you prefer your as yet unawakened toy?" He gestured toward the vitrine with his head. "Make your choice."

"Will you stay?" She forced the words through the desire clogging her throat.

"For a while."

As he bore her back to the softness of the absurd bed, she breathed deeply, trying to slow the pounding of her heart. She had been waiting for this all her life. It was to this moment all the other moments - beginning with their shared childhood and continuing to the kiss she had taken from the man and given to the statue - had inexorably led. She had known it. Had he?

He still held her wrists in the manacles of his hands and she pulled him to her using that contact. His face was smooth and warm against her own and when his fingers released their grip and moved to other places, she could not tell the living hand from the prosthesis, so befuddled were her senses. Then, none of that mattered at all.

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	8. Chapter 8

8/26/06

**A New Day**

LeBlanc swam upsward through clouds and dragonflies, lazily propelling her way to consciousness. She was reluctant to leave the weightless realm of her contented musing for the harsher world of thought. She lingered at that balanced place just below the surface of waking, spinning slowly, feeling the pleasant caress of her dreams, creating again and again the events of the evening and night.

He had stayed with her until the second moon had risen, then had quietly left but not before bestowing a final kiss on her lips and on the heart etched just beneath her collar bones. The touch had not fully wakened her from her sleep and she was not entirely sure what had been real and what imagined. He had not spoken at all during their final embraces. There had been a strangely dreaming quality to the encounter. Were it not for certain physical evidence, sho would have thought all that happened had just been another of the liaisons with the statue.

Finally she could delay no longer and opened her eyes. Fugitive rays of sun crept throught the curtains and and defined themselves in the dust motes swirling in the lemon light.

LeBlanc stretched, trying to preserve the memory of his body touching hers. The machina parts had been oddly provocative and she resolved next time to have more lamps lighted so that she could see as well as feel the totality of him.

He had shielded the view of his damaged body from her, not permitting her the explorations he reserved for himself. He had admired and caressed every part of her; she had only her sense of touch to define him.

Why was he so reluctant to share fully, she wondered. Did he fear she would be repelled or would no longer want him if she saw what horrors Sin had inflicted? Did he think she was that shallow? How could he doubt she would love him and find him desirable under all circumstances? A thought slipped unwelcomed into her mind. Did he conceal himself from his other lovers? How many were there and did he trust them more?

She fixed her gaze on the vitrine, glimmering in the shadowy light. The statue was facing her as usual but there was something subtlety different about it. a piece of paper was crumpled in the hand which held the cane.

Not bothering with a robe, LeBlanc leapt from the bed and scurried to the case. She opened the door and carefully teased the note from beneath the rigid fingers. Nervously, she smoother out the creases. Scrawled across the rectangle were the words: 'Pleased with your choice?'

She pressed the note against her breast as though she could in that way feel the touch of the hand which had written it. She had not been fully awake when Nooj had left. All she could be certain of was that he had left sometime after the rising of the second moon. He must have drawn the curtains as he went because she could clearly remember the shifting light slipping through the window and casting kaliedoscopic patterns across the bed and its occupants.

Suddenly, she was seized with a frisson of horror. Nooj had left her with kisses and no farewells. She desparately tried to recall what he had done after he had made his way toward the door. It was all trapped in the unreliable web of her dreams. When would he have had time and opportunity to write the note, open the vitrine and place the note in the hand of the statue? Who had written that note? Who had asked her another question? Who always demanded answers from her?

She was as certain as she could be that it had been the living Nooj who had shared her bed and whose tongue had met hers in the time of the two moons. But, after that ... ?

Shivers shook her from head to toe and she hurried back to her bed, burrowing under the covers and hiding from the gaze of the object which stood in the case. What had she set loose?

She remembered what the not-yet-real Nooj had called her just the day before. "A shallow, vulgar, needy wreck of a woman, no longer human, nothing but an endless appetite." Tears sprang from her eyes in spite of her efforts to stop them. The merciless accusation echoed in her head. She compared them to what the new note said. The four words could be read at laeast two ways: as an affectionate remark or as a scathing reproach. How was she to tell which was the correct reading? Who had written the note? Which lover was speaking to her though this message?

A mutter of conversation reached her from the door when only the heavy draperies separated her rfoom from the stair landing.

"Who's there?" She pushed her touseled head from under the quilts.

"You OK, boss?" Ormi shouted from beyond the door frame. "You ready for some breakfast?"

LeBlanc looked at the clock on her dresser. Ten already? "Just a minute," she called out as she buttoned on a dressing gown and hastitly re-ordeered the bed. Her private life was just that - private, but she saw no point in courting gossip amongst her staff.

"Come in." She arranged the coverlet over her knees, ready to accept the tray Ormi would be carrying.

"Here you are, bosss. I brought an extra muffin just in case you're hungry." He blushed a deep cerise and stared fixedly over her head.

"Thank you, Ormi. You may go now. ... Oh, get the information about that spiritualist - you know that consultant who left his card a few weeks ago. Put it on my desk."

The houseman drew himself up as far as his body shape would allow, saluted and took his leave, pulling open the window curtains as he passed by.

LeBlanc took a deep thirsty swallow of her tea. The ordinary routines of the day had steadied her and she could think more coherently about the past several hours.

The immediate concern was with the undeniably living Nooj, her Noojie. Would he return this night or would she have to send for him each time? Should she summon him again so soon? Perhaps there would be a message from him during the day. Last night's taste had only whetted her appetite and she briefly plotted ways to persuade him to move into the chateau before abandoning that idea for the moment. If she played her role properly, he could be lured later.

Then it hit her, as though a fiend had barreled into her belly, knocking all the wind out of her body. He might never come again! She remembered how much he had always hated being manipulated and made to do things he had not chosen. What if he saw last night in that light? No! He would come when she waved the chance of more spheres at him; he always did. She settled back and made her heart slow its frenetic pounding. He wouldn't be able to resist but just to make sure, she had better offer him two spheres this time. Just to make sure.

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	9. Chapter 9

9/23/06

**The Longest Day - 9**

LeBlanc paced first her own room, then the central area of the ground floor and finally the reception room. She critically surveyed the array of fruit laid out on the long table in the latter, screeching with anger when she found a single flaw on a pear or pineapple and throwing the offending article across the room to splatter on the wall. Ormi scurried breathlessly, directing the cleaning crews as they scooped up the skins and pulp and wiped down the juice sticky walls.

"Why can't you check these things before you put them out? You want to insult our visitors?" She used her forearm to sweep an entire end of the table clear. "Clean that up and put out some decent refreshments." She snarled as she stalked from the room, her heels clicking like castinets.

"Logos! Have you sent for the soothsayer? Where is he? He's had time to get here from another planet by now."

"I sent the message this morning, ma'am. It will get to Luca by tomorrow at the latest. I have a servant out watching for an answer." Logos gazed at the polished floor of the atrium.

"Wasn't there a faster way to send it?" LeBlanc knew th answer perfectly well.

"No, my lady. I sent it by chocobo."

"I'm going upstairs. Bring me some tea and a few scones." She slapped her fan against her thigh, the snap of the closing puncutating her words.

"Yes, my lady." The tall thin man bowed deeply and hastened to the kitchen area.

Back in her own quarters, LeBlanc threw herself down on the chaise. To her displeasure the bed had been made. She would have kept it in its disheveled state as a monument to what had happened there last night. Bah! Nobody in her household had any sense of respect at all.

The crinkle of paper in her pocket reminded her of the one thing which she was trying not to think about. She turned her eyes toward the vitrine by the dresser. Had he moved? Was the pose exactly the same as when she had left the room? What about when he had been brought into her house? Surely there was some small change in the way he stood. She slowly pushed herself up and nervously approached the case. She had left the key in the lock - a carelessness for which she silently berated herself. Opening the door silently, she stepped inside the glass enclosure. Could she smell the faint aroma of amber? Oh yes, she had placed a sachet of that fragrance near the base of the image yesterday. She touched his arm and thought she felt it yield to her fingers' pressure. The motionless figure seemed warm and she sensed a steady thrum as though somewhere a heart was beating. For a moment, she grew dizzy and thought she would faint and crumple at the feet of the Nooj simulacrum. If she did, would he stoop to pick her up? And hold her to him while he bathed her in his breath? She closed her eyes and tried to steady herself. But when she looked at him again, she was lost.

With a half-strangled sob, she draped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his broad hairless chest. The drum beat she heard was her own heart reflected back to her ... or was it? Was the rib cage expanding and contracting or was it an illusion? The sound of a door opening jolted her from her reverie and she spun around to see Logos entering the room with a tea tray.

She dropped her embrace and, face flaming, crossed the room still feeling the pressure of the imitation man against her skin. "Well, it took you long enough."

Logos, his well-schooled face as blank as the linen napkin he spread over her knees when she had seated herself at the small table, wisely said nothing.

"You may go now." She snapped. "No ... wait." Her impulse was to scribble a summons for him to send to Mushroom Rock Road, but she thought better of the idea. "Go ahead. I'll talk to you later." With a wave of her hand, she dismissed him, never meeting his eyes.

Should she call Nooj to her? She could not decide. On the one hand, she was ravenous for his presence, his touch, his enclosing caress. All at once she became aware that she was making a small whimpering sound as she clutched the note in her pocket. With an abrupt movement, she shoved herself away from her meal and started pacing again. The note - who had written it and what did it mean? She did not need to read it again; the words were etched into her mind so deeply she knew they would never disappear.

"Pleased with your choice?" She tore at her hair, her features distorted and her entire frame shaken by fear. It was a challenge and a taunt. It was a mockery, she recognized that. Who was mocking her? Who had written it? She could not bear not to know who was behind this. What was it mocking? The fact that she had yielded herself to the hero of her childhood days and that he had taken her scornfully and used her with neither love nor respect? Her one weapon had been thrown away and she was left forlorn and unarmed upon a battlefield she had never sought? It would have been better to entice him further, tease him and make him want her more than she wanted him. She was a woman; she knew how to do these things. Shiva knew, she had practiced on enough men in enough places to have the skills needed to play such amatory games. Why had she fallen at the first jump? She answered herself - because she was not sure she would ever have the opportunity to draw him to her bedroom again. He was different from the others. He was not fascinated with her and her erotic ruses. He was cold and indifferent to her little wiles and to the beauty her mirror showed her. The machina had penetrated into his very being and he was not ruled by his passions, if ever he had been.

But he had been passionate the night before. Or had he? She could no longer separate what had actually happened from what she thought she remembered. It had all become a part of the fantasies she had composed around him for the past weeks and months. She was sure he had taken her.

... Or had he? She flung herself down on the heart shaped bed and tried to catch the scent of his body on the pillows. She could not be sure if it was there or not.

Tears forced themselves from beneath her eyelids and she angrily swept them away. Crying would help nothing. Either he would come back to her or he would not and it was her job to make sure he returned. She stared sightlessly at the silk-draped ceiling and plotted.

It was too soon to send for him again. He would not believe she had suddenly come into the possession of two historically valuable spheres the very day after he had stayed the night in her bed. Coincidences happened but this would be far too neat a chance. It would be best to wait for at least three days to lend some credibility to her story. She cried aloud in her pain. How could she wait so long? What would she do to pass the time and not go mad? She wanted him; her body ached for him.

The mage would be here tomorrow almost surely. That would occupy a few hours. She could ask him some questions ...

What would she ask? If the image in the vitrine could partake of life? She tossed from side to side. Had it written the note? In a fit of jealousy? What was it? What had she made of it? If she caressed it as if it were the man it resembled, would it become that man? If she took it into her bed ... Her mind reeled and she cried out again.

LeBlanc clapped her hand over her mouth lest she arouse curiosity from the servants who constantly waited outside her door. She did not want to answer any questions, no matter how well-meant. She wanted the night to come and pass and the morrow to come and pass and all the time to pass until she could call her lover back to her.

Finally, exhausted, she fell asleep still fully clothed on top of the bed covers. She slept intermittently, waking only to be tormented by thoughts and visions until despair drove her again to sleep and then another waking agony. Vaguely she sensed someone undressing her and tucking her under the covers but did not care enough to learn who. Her only true awareness was of the phantasm of her dreams when she reached in the intervals of half-consciousness for the body she imagined lay beside her only to find nothing but rumpled sheets and emptiness.

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	10. Chapter 10

9/28/06

**Twilight - 10**

The chateau was a hive of activity. The entire premises boiled with the comings and goings of the Syndicate's agents. Like so many ferrets, they slipped sinuously through the rooms, getting their assignments and setting out to accomplish them. They called themselves "The Goons" - a name which their chief had found amusing when she first heard it since it piqued her sense of irony. They had adopted a uniform which covered them, male and female, from head to toe and offered no loose ends to snag in dangerous close quarters and permitted them to venture into any space with no fear of leaving any trace of themselves behind. LeBlanc had always enjoyed watching them in action, taking pleasure in their athletic grace and gymnastic talents as they retrieved for her the treasures to which she directed them.

Today, one of her most proficient teams had laid before her a prize. They had unearthed a cache of spheres at the site of an abandoned Yevonite monastery - one of those hidden sanctuaries of the disgraced warrior monks and other religious adherents who had gone to ground after the disclosure of the great Yevon conspiracy. Under a flagstone in the cemetery of the community, a carefully lined wooden box held a collection of prime, glowing recording spheres untouched since the last monk had either died or been killed.

"Yes." LeBlanc breathed softly to herself. Spheres like this would offer a logical excuse to summon Nooj to her side again. It had been nearly a week and she had almost run out of ways to resist the urge to send for him. Now, she was free to do what she so desperately wished.

With a smile and a liberal plastering of praise, she pressed gold coins into the hands of the members of the triumphant search party, sending them on their way to celebrate their success as they fancied, secure in the regard of their employer.

Things were going smoothly. The Syndicate's business prospered with all the new discoveries coming in. Since most of them were commercial in their subject matter, they were valuable to collectors of the various genres of performance art and the family albums were still much in demand by hobbyists. The retailers in the cities continued to clamor for as many spheres as she could supply. Fortune seemed to favour the teams under LeBlanc's management.

The lady herself was still torn. One of the reasons she was so relieved to be able to send for Nooj was that she was being tormented by the doppelganger

she had welcomed into her house and private rooms. Night after night, she felt the figure she had commissioned leave its case and come to her bed. There it had taunted her and forced her to perform and to submit to acts which left her bruised and still unfulfilled the next morning. She would find the evidence of the experiences on her body and her linens but could never quite wake sufficiently to protest or otherwise engage the image in a plea for mercy.

She was sure of the reality of what was happening in spite of the difficulty in either comprehending or explaining the events. When the celebrated mage finally came to her and she questioned him as to where truth might lie, he only repeated to her the same scripture she had heard from every other source. "Well, Lady LeBlanc, you do understand that Spira is a land of mystery which holds in its bosom many areas which are little understood. You may not be aware that in the days of Yevon certain persons willingly took on this burden so that they could help preserve the ..." He droned on and on, telling her things she had known from her youth and had dismissed as legend.

"So, my lady, it may well be that your great love for this man whose image stands in your house has mystically invested that same image with some of the life you feel in the actual man and in fact ..." His commentary veered into metaphysics and became more and more unintelligible.

LeBlanc had paid the fee suggested and sent the seer on his way with false thanks. She was no wiser than she had been before his visit.

With a sigh, she reflected that this night she would be protected by the presence of Nooj - if only he would come. She did not think the simulacrum, no matter the extent of its animation, would challenge the original directly.

When Omri had responded to her bell, she handed him the note she had written informing Nooj of the discovery of a new and special sphere. She would risk offering only a single sphere once more, holding the others in reserve for the time when she would have to sweeten her bribe. "Here!" She instructed the rotund servant. "Send this to Mushroom Rock Road by the quickest means. It's important."

"Yes, madam." Omri bowed as far as he could and turned to go. "Oh, ma'am, I almost forgot - I found this on your bed table this morning. Is there something you asked and I didn't understand?" He held out a somewhat crumpled slip of paper.

She took it and ice ran in her veins. 'Pleased with your choice?' It was the note she had found in the hand of the statue after Nooj had left her that first night.

"What choice, madam? Did I miss something?" Omri's query broke her spell.

"Why do you think this is meant for you?"

"It's your handwriting, my lady. And you sometimes leave notes for us there." He studiously looked at the tiles on the floor.

"My hand ...?" She looked more closely. It did resemble her way of forming letters. Had it always looked like that? Could she have absently made a copy of the original? Aware that her servant was waiting, she brusquely responded, "Never mind. It's just a reminder to myself. Get that message off right now. Hurry!"

When she was alone again, she fell back against the support of the chair since her spine would no longer brace her. The paper fluttered from her hand and she did not have the strength to pick it up.

-X-

When she sat across the table from Nooj that evening, LeBlanc had herself well in hand. She had pushed the matter of the note to the back of her mind resolving to deal with it later.

"So, Noojie, are things going well with the Youth League? Any more rumours about New Yevon getting its hands on that secret weapon?"

The tall man would not repress a shudder at the use of the hated nick-name. He had been relieved to find his hostess less frenetic than on his last visit and had hoped that this evening might focus on business.

"We're still trying to piece together just what New Yevon knows about the last days of Old Yevon. Your contributions have been of immeasurable help." He pushed away his plate and leaned forward, his arms folded on the surface in front of him. "I'm eager to see what you have for me today."

She smiled archly. "I'm sure you are. Shall we go upstairs to find out?"

"Can't you send for the sphere? One of your servants could spare you the trouble of fetching it."

"It's no trouble; let's go up together." She was adamant and he realized with a sickening conviction that she would exact her price for the information he wanted.

Without bothering to continue the futility of arguing, Nooj pushed himself to his feet and followed her from the reception room, through the atrium and up the curving staircase like a condemned man being led to the gallows. He was angry with himself for obeying her summons. He should have sent Lucil; at worst she would have been refused entrance and he would then have had a lever to use in further dealings with the arrogant woman who led him up the endless stairs to the destination he dreaded.

He paused at the entrance to her suite, hoping that he could avoid entering the chamber which seemed to breathe seduction from its furnishings and perfumes.

"Come in, Noojie." Her voice called from inside, a quaver changing the timbre.

LeBlanc was standing to one side of the draperies which muffled any sound from the room, staring fixedly at the contents of the glass case which occupied the space beside her dresser. Her back was rigid against the wall and her hands were pressed to either side of her body. She seemed frozen with fear.

"Look, Noojie." She demanded. "It was about to open the door when you came in. It's scared of you."

"What are you talking about, woman?" Nooj spoke more loudly than he had intended.

"Your twin. He hurts me. When you're not here, he hurts me." She still gazed bleakly at the statue.

Nooj moved to come between her and the vitrine. "Stop this, LeBlanc, you're acting like a lunatic. That's just a statue you had made. Get rid of it. It's bad for you."

She buried her face against his chest. "No, I can't. It won't go and won't be sent away. You think it's just a statue but I know it lives. It lives and tortures me. When I'm alone. ... Hold me, please, hold me and love me."

-X-

She had clung to him with the desperation of drowning woman during the night and wept forlornly when he rose before the dawn to take his leave. At her request, he made sure the glass case was securely locked and the key placed in the chest on the dresser from which he retrieved the promised sphere. He kissed her, trying not to show his blended pity and disgust, and pushed back the heavy curtains which lined the door so that any sound could be heard by the guards on the outer landing.

When he was finally free of the stifling atmosphere of the chateau, Nooj paused before continuing on his way. He was horrified by the direction in which this affair was turning. He should have kept his vow to stay away from her after the first night in her bed. She was becoming less stable with each meeting and he wanted no part of her dissolution. But the spheres... He felt he and his researchers were growing ever nearer to unlocking the secret of

the Ultimate Weapon of which the Maesters had boasted in their private communications. If he could only discover it and render it useless or, better yet, stow it away where only responsible leaders such as himself might have access, it would assure the safety of Spira into this new age. Was such an eternity of peace worth the sanity of one sad woman? He would have to make a decision; this could not go on.

Still thinking, he limped toward the entrance of Guadosalam where he could find a hover to take him back to his headquarters.

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	11. Chapter 11

10/3/06

**The Quality of Mercy - 11**

It was sunset when he presented himself at the heavy door of the chateau. The fugitive rays which slipped into Guadasalam from the outside painted the wood with streaks of what might have been blood as though the entrance was marked by some memory of a brutal sacrifice. The emblazoned door swung open silently on well-oiled hinges to reveal the chatelaine herself. LeBlanc looked up, her head cocked to one side and he saw, to his disgust, that her eyes were glassy and glittering with the madness with which he had become all too familiar. It seemed to have become her usual state.

"My lady, I am here as you requested." He was determined to maintain what formality and normalcy he could. "You said you had some more spheres for me."

Once again he questioned his susceptibility to the lure of those largely forgotten records from the Spiran past. Why did he permit himself to play her games when he knew precisely what she was doing and why? Was knowledge that potent a drug so as to addict him in this fashion?

"Why won't you call me Talya? I think we know one another well enough now to go back to the names we used to use." Abominably, she winked and he felt his resolve harden. "After all, we're old, old friends, Noojie. Yes, I've got three new spheres for you. Exciting ones about that secret weapon Bevelle hid." She spoke too loudly and too fast. Suddenly she seemed to realize that and stopped. After a moment, she continued in a more controlled voice, "There are pictures of the hiding place."

"That is exciting," he responded. "Do any of them name it yet?" He stepped across the threshold, drawn by her claw-like grip on his right arm.

She was breathless and chattering again. "Not yet. But I have a lead on some others. Come in and have some dinner. It's all ready." She tugged him toward the reception room where Logos held the door open and bowed them in.

When they had eaten and sent away the empty plates, when the tall houseman had poured the after-dinner brandy, Nooj directed the conversation back to the ostensible purpose of his visit. "May I see those new spheres? You've made me curious."

"Of course. Let me fetch them." LeBlanc cast a tremulous smile at him and he noticed with dread that her hands were trembling. "They're in my room. Do you want to come up with me?"

He sighed inwardly. There was no use trying to avoid it. His possession of the spheres would come only after he had paid the price. That had been made clear to him during his last visit. He levered himself out of the low chair with his cane and, bending courteously over her hand, escorted her up the curving stairs from the atrium.

"Make yourself comfortable." She waved him to a chair and began rummaging in the chest on her dresser. After a few minutes, she found what she was hunting and spilled three shining spheres in his lap. "See? I told you they were good ones."

There was no way of telling what information was recorded on the objects without a viewer but these did look promising. They had obviously been kept in careful storage and protected from wear over the years. Nooj slipped them into the pouch he wore at his belt and was grateful. Now if only ...

LeBlanc minced up to him, a flare of desire striking sparks in her eyes. "Now, do you have something for me?" She simpered and his hopes fell.

He let her tug him to his feet and begin unlacing his tunic. Suddenly, a look of fear crossed her face and she clung to him, shaking.

"Please, Noojie. Please will you turn your other self away? He gets jealous when he sees us together and I'm afraid he'll hurt me again." She was genuinely trembling against his chest.

At first, Nooj did not understand what she meant, then she gestured toward the vitrine and the foul statue which stood inside. "He comes out those nights you're not here and punishes me. He says awful, insulting things and he ..." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "He ... abuses me because he's jealous. Oh, turn him away so he won't know about tonight."

So it had finally happened, he thought. She had tipped over the edge into the agony of her own mad world. He was frozen for an instant with horror and pity before he put her aside and did as she bade.

When the statue was positioned with its back to the bed, her playfulness returned. She unlaced and unbuttoned his garments, setting his belt and its pouch aside until he stopped her and moved to dim the light.

"Why do you have to do that?" She pouted flirtatiously. "I want to see you."

"No." He began disrobing her, a simple task given her style of dress. "I have my rules and you must follow them."

"Then take off the rest of your clothes and come to me. I want you." She slipped into the heart-shaped bed and held out her arms welcoming him even as she demanded him.

He took care to use her with gentleness, making sure she was satisfied before he sought his own release. He could not bear to bring her more pain.

When he rose over her in the dim light and looked into her face, he saw a strangely calm expression in her eyes. She had become, at least for this moment, the person he had known so many years ago. The fevered glitter had gone and she gazed up at him with a serenity and understanding which had become rare in his experience with her.

"Will you let me look at you, see your body?" She asked simply and softly.

He waited for long minutes, considering, his eyes searching hers for some hidden meaning. Then, without speaking, he reached for the hanging lamp and turned the switch to increase the light. That done, he lay supine beside her and cast aside the sheet which he had draped across his left side, leaving his body bare to her view.

LeBlanc pushed herself to her knees and looked at him. When her eyes had taken in the scars and crimson tissue of his hideous injuries, she stretched out her hand and traced, with a feather's touch, that which she had seen. Her fingertips slid over the melted wax-like areas where the limbs had been burned away and the hollows and knots left by the surgeries which had implanted the Al Bhed prostheses. She kissed the place where the tortured skin closed around the metal and ceramic rods of the mechanical shoulder and finally lay back alongside him, her eyes brimming with tears. "I love you, all of you," she whispered.

He still did not speak but lifted himself to lie upon her body, pressing her against the yielding mattress. His face slowly moved dwonward until his lips met her and he possessed her mouth as her arms crept around his neck, binding them together.

Nooj closed his eyes. His decision had been made when he had entered ther house and seen her wretchedness. This could not be permitted to continue. He was not that sort of a sadist. And so, his left hand in its black glove rose to her throat and tightened. He felt the beginnings of the tremors in her body as her lungs started their futile, unpreventable struggle for air. She did not try to release her mough from his but, with a supreme exercise of will, clung ever more closely until it was over. Her arms fell limply to the bed, the fingers curled loosely like those of an exhausted child.

He moved with terrible gentleness from her and tenderly closed the eyes in which now lay only peace. The illusion of sleep wrapped her in its serene embrace as he straightened her limbs and drew the sheet up to her breast.

Without haste, in the full light of the lamp, Nooj dressed and tidied himself not forgetting the pouch with the spheres. He paused for a final look at the woman who had once upon a time been Talya. Then he opened the door and limped out, closing it securely behind him repeating to himself like a mantra that two acts of love had taken place behind the featureless door with its muffling draperies.

When he reached the road leading from Guadasalam to the outside world, he had made up his mind where he would go next. Mushroom Rock Road held no appeal now but the Gullwings were somewhere in Spira and where they were was Paine. He would find her and confess at her knees - confess everything. She would cleanse him with her forgiveness.

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End file.
